


death minute in decimal

by nether1te



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dream Smp, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, Oneshot, Pandora's Vault, Suicide, TommyInnit - Freeform, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), dream - Freeform, i am crying, no beta we die like wilbur, please this hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nether1te/pseuds/nether1te
Summary: after a security breach during what was supposed to be a brief final visit to pandora's vault, tommy begins to lose himself.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106





	death minute in decimal

**Author's Note:**

> i'm speedrunning the pain
> 
> (tw// suicide, mild gore, manipulation)

* * *

Seven days.

That was what Dream had said. Seven days- an entire week spent in a cell with Dream until Sam could resolve the security issue. Seven days of confinement, a repeat of the hell Tommy had gone through months before. It didn’t seem long, from a glance, but after less than one day in custody, Tommy was already losing himself.

At first, Tommy had cried out. He had shouted Sam’s name, at some point even Phil’s, begging for the warden to help him out, to free him from incarceration with the person he hated most. He had screamed himself hoarse and all the while, Dream had stood, watching Tommy. “Go ahead, call for help again,” he’d said. “Nothing will happen.”

So Tommy called for help.

And nobody came.

Two days now. Forty-eight hours trapped in the prison, caught in a conflict that didn’t concern him. Tommy sat in a corner of the tiny room, purple tears dripping down his shirt from the obsidian abovehead, silently counting the minutes until he could leave.

Dream seemed to think they were friends- even after exile, and doomsday, and his blatant threats to take Tubbo’s life without hesitation. He would chatter cheerfully to Tommy for hours, telling him about what he was writing in his journals or the previous interactions he’d had with visitors. He would pester Tommy about the SMP, begging to know how the Eggpire was progressing or how individual members were doing. Sometimes Tommy would start believing that Dream had changed, but he’d quickly remember how he had hurt his friends, his family, his home.

“Why don’t you write something?” Dream suggested; he promptly tossed an empty leather-bound book to Tommy. He had avoided it for a while, but now he picked up the journal, flipping through hundreds of blank white pages. Dipping a quill lightly into a bottle of ink, he scrawled the words  _ I want to go home  _ on the paper.

Four days. The security problem was still far from being resolved. Tommy was beginning to think it wouldn’t ever be fixed. Tears streaming down his face, his throat dry and raspy, Tommy had weakly called out again. He didn’t know why he tried.

Five days. Dream sat, watching Tommy slowly break down. He watched the young boy cry into his folded arms. “Why are you crying?” he asked. “You have nothing to cry about.”

“I have plenty to cry about,” Tommy replied in an angry, muffled voice.

Six days. Some voice in the back of his mind told Tommy that he was overreacting, that he had to have patience. But he didn’t think he could take another day.

“Hi, Tommy!” Dream called in the happy voice Tommy hated so much. He jumped down from a bunk, proudly sporting a bright-orange jumpsuit and carrying a journal in one hand, an eagle’s quill in the other.

As Tommy turned away, refusing to acknowledge the man, Dream frowned. He didn’t like to be ignored. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” he inquired slowly; though he wore a smile that could be perceived as welcoming, his tone was underlaid with haughty contempt. “I thought we were friends.”

And that was it. That was what set Tommy off. For months he’d been silently falling apart, not knowing who he could trust or depend upon, and it was because of Dream. He’d truly believed Dream to be his friend, but friends didn’t make each other try to kill themselves, did they?

It was exile all over again. Dream had pushed him to his breaking point and now here he was, desperately standing before the lava once again, the man he feared and despised holding him back from taking his own final life.

“No. No no no. Get away from there, Tommy,” he exclaimed, rushing forward and grabbing onto the boy’s arm. Dream didn’t much care for Tommy, really; he just wanted to see his death at his own hands. “It’s not your time to die.”

Those words again. The words Dream had spoken during exile, a parallel to another time when Tommy was suffering in silence with nobody to talk to other than the ghost of his brother and a hybrid he barely knew. But this time, the only person Tommy could commune with was the man who had lied to him, who’d manipulated him, who’d almost made him jump off a pillar from a height he wouldn’t survive.

It  _ was  _ his time to die. 

Tommy lurched forward, wrenching free from Dream’s grasp, his hands trembling even more than they had while he’d looked down upon the remains of Logstedshire from hundreds of feet up. He barely heard Dream calling his name, shouting for Sam just as Tommy had done. He saw his feet moving forward, in shoes that were almost too small, over the obsidian floors and the barrier made of netherite. He felt the warmth radiating from the lava, touching a hand to the liquid, ignoring the way it burned away his flesh and left his fingertips scarred and bloodied. Tommy remembered how in the final control room Eret had chanted “It was never meant to be”, a phrase that had haunted and stuck by him till his final moments.

And so Tommy turned, fixating Dream with a look that sent pity through even a man as heartless as him. He fell backwards into the lava, mouthing the traitor’s infamous phrase wordlessly, wearing the salute of a fallen soldier. He was smiling, a weary, tired smile, that of a child that had endured enough pain and suffering for a lifetime.

Solemnity flowed throughout Tommy as he fell. He felt sad that he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to Sam, or Tubbo, or any of the people he trusted and believed to be his friends. He felt a small pang of guilt, realising that he would no longer be there to protect Tubbo from the egg.

At least he’d be able to see his brother again.


End file.
